


KISS OF FIRE ~ SmaugBo

by lethaldesires



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Benedict Cumberbatch - Freeform, Bilbo Baggins/Smaug - Freeform, Fluff, M/M, Mildly Explicit, Nonchalant & Happy Ambiance, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Shapeshifting, Smaug - Freeform, bilbo baggins - Freeform, characters, martin freeman - Freeform, new characters - Freeform, sexually explicit, smaugbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 10:30:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2618558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethaldesires/pseuds/lethaldesires
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo rescues a dying Smaug and takes him to Shire, where a bond of an unusual kind ensues. Smaug changes to a human-like form and no one ever guesses who Bilbo’s new friend is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	KISS OF FIRE ~ SmaugBo

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my dearest elcolorazul (tumblr); written based on her lovely idea turned prompt.  
> This is my very first post on AO3. I usually publish my work on Tumblr ( I have published this story there too.)

 

“This is not good. This is, certainly, not good. This is a mistake.” Bilbo muttered to himself, as he struck, gently, with the crop.

His pony snorted and began to hurtle a little faster at the tap, dragging along the cart as it moved. The poor animal was struggling to tug the weight. Bilbo glanced back at the load stored in the cart. Frankly, he feared that either the wooden wheels would crack at the effort or this fiasco would end in the death of his pony. _Or it would end in my death_ – his mind spoke, as he covered the sharp claws of the commodity he was transporting back to _Shire_ , in the heart of the night.

Bilbo reached home a couple of hours before dawn, which was ideal as he, definitely, did not need an audience when he carried his unconscious company into the hobbit-hole. He dismounted, and, without wasting much time, set toward the task at hand. Inspecting the area, he made sure that there was no one around.

He fastened the reigns, and with care, he removed the pin from the metal bar, separating the cart from the harness. The old cart inclined, dumping the heavy load sheltered beneath a worn out sheet. Bilbo pulled off the spread, exposing the body under it, and, bunching it into a ball, discarded the cloth.

He paced around the figure, calculating his next move. _Should I pull it by the tail or go for the paws?_ \- he pondered, studying the dragon from all angles.

“Please do not wake up.” he prayed to the sleeping beast, and went for its tail.

Just as everyone, he too believed that Bard’s arrow had killed the dragon, until he had gone back to the battlefield to aid in finding survivors. At the outskirts of the land, he had gotten lost and treaded away from the group of helpers. It is then that he discovered the wounded dragon, which was lying hidden behind an outcrop of rocks, taking refuge therein.

Bilbo was alarmed at the sight – partly, due to the fact that the dragon was still alive, but, mostly, because of the transformation of the creature. Smaug, shrunken to the size of the largest dwarf, lied huddled up with his tail looped laterally around. A suppressed growl of pain stemmed from the belly of the beast. The underside of its body rose and fell in a languid pace - its breath was slowing; it was dying.

Bilbo’s noble heart could not stand witness to the death of this mighty creature. True, Smaug was a menace; but it was one thing to kill in defense when there was no other choice and it was another to, knowingly, stand idle as someone died before you when you could have done something that could alter their fate.

So, Bilbo had moved in closer to assess the intensity of the wound.

“You could kill me, now. But I must enlighten you that it would end badly for the two of us. I am going to try and pull out the arrow, Smaug. Bear with me, this moment.” Bilbo had said to the grunting peril.

Smaug had, abruptly, opened his eyes, startling the hobbit, as the little being began to pull out the arrow wedged between his ribs, right next to his heart.

Bilbo had watched the tears run in streams, from the corners of the dragon’s eyes, over the scaly and uneven pelt of its face. Those petrifying eyes had regarded Bilbo, never once blinking, never once ending the scrutiny.

Smaug had remained still until Bilbo pulled out the arrow. But when a peculiar fluid gushed out of the wound, the dragon had, gradually, fallen into a deep stupor. He had not known the difficulty with which Bilbo had nursed his injury and had hidden him from the soldiers of different armies.

And here Bilbo was, after the feat of loading-carrying-unloading-dragging- and restraining the dragon, marching about outside the room in which he had locked up Smaug. He was questioning the wisdom in the deed. Post-battle, his mind had been too clogged that he failed to consider the outcome of this covert rescue.

There were countless questions ringing in his head. What would his companions think of the act? Had they not gone into a battle, of which, one of the major intent was death to the dragon? What will become of Shire; would it be in danger when the dragon shall awaken? What was he to do next; kill the beast after he had saved it? Or protect it; if so, until when… or until what transpired?

Pulling onto his hair, hoping that would stop his mind from thinking further, Bilbo sighed, noisily.

“I can’t! I can’t take this now!” he mumbled to himself.

He was weary of it all and wanted to rest. And so he decided to push all the worrying for tomorrow and to get some much needed sleep.

But, before he headed to bed, he pressed his ear against the door, behind which lay the dragon, and checked for any sort of noise. When there was none, he strode to his room, hoping that he does not wake up to a burning roof.

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In the morning, when Bilbo had roused, he tip-toed to the chamber at the furthest end of the hobbit-hole, wherein he had chained the dragon. He pried, again, with his ears to the wooden door; there was nothing but eerie silence. He stood there for a while, deciding against opening the door; for all he knew, he could be attacked by the ruthless creature. But Bilbo had to do something, and, so, he, cautiously, unlocked the door and nudged it open.

His snooping eyes found the dragon at the corner of the room, lying bundled up and dousing, soundly. Soon there was an unholy rumble that astounded the hobbit. The dragon’s stomach was calling for attention.

Bilbo, however, mistook the sound as a pained moan. So he walked closer to the creature, to examine the wound. Just as Bilbo’s fingers touched its skin, the dragon jolted its head up, and, spreading its wings, fluttered to the other corner of the room, with the chain-links clinking loudly as it did. Bilbo froze in fear, unaware as to what he should do – must he run and take cover or should he stay and die?

Smaug was awake, and aware of the hobbit’s presence, but he had pretended to be asleep. He could not face Bilbo. Everything was taken away from him - the horded gold of the greedy dwarves, his might, power and strength. Here he was, reformed to a smaller stature, driven out and away from safety, and alive at the kindness of a burglar whom he had wanted to kill. So he was ashamed - ashamed of himself, ashamed of his defeat, and ashamed that he could not fight the undeserving kindness. He was Smaug the Magnificent, the Greatest of Calamities, the coldblooded evil that was feared by all; but now, he was nothing.

The dragon’s belly rumbled again and the sound echoed off the walls. It is then that Bilbo realized that the beast was hungry. What do dragons eat? Fish? Meat? Well, he better get it something before he became its meal, he thought.

Bilbo, hurriedly, exited and locked up the room. He had to freshen up and rush out to the village market to bring some food.

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Bilbo remained pensive as he had gotten ready; he went about the chores with a loud mind that was thinking a hundred thoughts by the second. The chains or the locked doors were not good enough to confine the creature. As a matter of fact, it could melt off the iron links, burn down his hobbit-hole and turn Shire into a pile of ash, if it had willed. _Then why has it not?_ Bilbo wondered. Well, no matter the reason, Bilbo was to see an end to this very soon; and he hoped against hope that it will not be as terrifying as his mind seemed to picture it.

Just as Bilbo stepped out, he found Mr. Meriadoc on the other side of the fence, inspecting the lawn. Bilbo followed the old hobbit’s eyes to find the reason behind his scrutiny. There were deep plough lines in the ground, with exposed dark soil, along which lay grass and flowers ripped out of the ground – Smaug’s claw marks. It must have happened when Bilbo had dragged the dragon inside.

“I’m planting some poppies, Mr. Meriadoc.” Bilbo clarified, before the other hobbit jumped to conclusions or pried further.

“Just…umm… uprooting the old flowers. Planning to redo the lawn.” Bilbo shrugged.

Mr. Meriadoc said nothing in response; he merely nodded, with eyes still studying the patterns dug into the earth.

“I was… erm… I was on my way to the market. Is there anything I can do for you?” Bilbo asked, as he was almost out the gate.

The other hobbit glanced one last time at the claw marks, and, with a judging glare at Bilbo, walked away from the perimeter of his land.

“Alright then!” Bilbo called after him, as he locked up the gate, before heading to the village market. He made a mental note to tidy up the muddled lawn.

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Storing the items he had purchased from the market, safely into the pantry, Bilbo rummaged the space for an old tray. When he had found the large platter, he cleaned it up and placed it on the ground.

He, then, unwinding a thin rope atop, opened a sack, and dumped a whole lamb onto the tray. The butcher had asked Bilbo if there was to be a feast. Bilbo had escaped the questions with more lies. He was clueless as to what he must say when he was to go there again to get more meat for his unwanted guest.

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“Smaug! Here’s… uh… here’s some food for you.” Bilbo said, as he carried the platter inside, and set it down on the floor.

“You must eat. Please.” Bilbo tried again to coerce the dragon into eating something before it flew out on a hunger-induced-rage and destroyed everything it saw.

“Smaug!” Bilbo called, again.

The dragon lifted its head and turned around. Then, extending its neck toward the tray of food, it took in a whiff of the meat. Suddenly, with a rambling sound, the creature spat fire.

The wooden table and chair, part of the floor, the edges of the curtains were all set ablaze by the flare. Bilbo, swiftly, removed his cloak and attacked the flames. He hopped and pranced, in a funny dance, to douse the fire. With much difficulty, he was, finally, successful.

He turned around to find Smaug gawking at him with its head cocked, chewing down a bite of the meat. When Bilbo looked at the platter, which, now, lay partly melted beneath the lamb, he realized why Smaug had spat fire.

“I’ll remember to roast the meat the next time.” Bilbo sighed.

The hobbit sat on the slightly burned chair, with some soot smeared over his face, and watched the dragon eat. He remembered how horrific it had been, seeing Smaug for the first time. The beast had been larger by a thousand folds, and its voice had stirred the air in a violent wave as it spoke. But, now, apart from the occasional grumbling and grunts, Smaug hadn’t uttered a word. May be it had lost its ability to speak, just as it had lost its mighty stature, Bilbo wondered. It might have been the impact of the Black Arrow.

“I need to see the wound.” Bilbo said, at the end of that trail of thoughts.

Smaug, who was licking the juices off of the plate, stilled at the act, and, turning around, moved back to the corner. He did not like being reminded of it, of that moment when he was shot down from the skies and he had plunged into his doom. The lesion still hurt and it would leave scars, but he did not want to mull over it, not now, not ever.

“Alright! If you do not want to, I shall not impose. I best get going, then.” Bilbo said, and bent down to pick up the salver. Just as he did, Smaug, with the tip of his tail, dragged the platter toward the corner, and began to lick off the rest of the juice.

“Okay! You can keep that.” Bilbo said, and paced out of the chamber, grabbing his ruined cloak.

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Bilbo was having the worst nightmare. In the world created by his subconscious, he was once again in the battlefield, fighting about seven orcs who had surrounded him. The clinking and clanking of weapons was so loud that he was awakened by it. His body shuddered visibly and he, speedily, sat upright, only to realize that the noise was real and not just a construct of his mind.

The furor seemed to originate from the kitchen. Bilbo then knew that the moment he had feared was upon him. He must face the consequences of his actions. So he stepped out of the bed, adjusted his night cap, and sneaked out toward the kitchen.

Suddenly, there was a swishing and clattering noise from behind. He, quickly, turned around to see the end of the dragon’s tail and the deracinated chains disappearing into the corridor.  Bilbo lit the candles in the kitchen to find the entire place pillaged and cluttered.  Why was the creature doing this? He had fed it enough food throughout the day.

Bilbo had to find out the reason behind the damage. Frankly, the hobbit hated untidiness and now his home looked worse than the goblin caves.

When Bilbo had opened the door, he had fully intended to clamor at the beast, at the risk of being burned alive or eaten. But the sight, with which he was welcomed, had silenced him.

All of Bilbo’s pots, pans, jars, mugs, crockery and cutlery were gathered into a pile at the center of the room, and over it sprawled the dragon, sound asleep.

The view tugged onto Bilbo’s heart, intensely. The creature had been habituated to its greed to the point that it became an action of normalcy; it had even affected the simplest of things like its sleep.

Bilbo was not to scold; he would let it rest.

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“Smaug, I like to make some breakfast for myself. Do you mind if I just grab some things from underneath?” Bilbo asked pointing at the loot below the beast’s underbelly.

“It is not gold. It’s iron, copper or tin. Not gold.” Bilbo clarified.

The dragon, simply, stared at Bilbo, resting its head and relaxing on its treasure of pots and pans. As the beast moved a little, a cup without handle rolled away toward the hobbit. Taking note, before Bilbo could pick it, the dragon rolled it back into the pile using its claw.

“I take that as a ‘No’. Very well, I’ll buy some new utensils. You rest well.” Bilbo said, irritated, but he tried not to let it show.

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A week had gone by. Bilbo continued to cater to the needs of his high maintenance guest - buying meat and fish in bulk every day, cleaning up after the dragon, trying to steal back the stolen pots; he was so beaten and exhausted by the end of each day that he dropped asleep where he stood, only to wake up the next morning to find the house wrecked as before.

The first few days, Smaug had taken the utensils and crockery Bilbo had newly bought to replace the older ones, which the dragon had claimed as his own. So Bilbo had started to stash it all up, after dinner, in the floor storage, where the creature would not find it.

And, as in the past few nights, he was, carefully, storing away everything, when he heard a sharp hiss from behind. He turned around to find a large serpent hanging down from the ceiling rack of his kitchen. It swayed, about to leap onto the floor.

Bilbo pulled out a large saucepan from the open storage and aimed at it. The black snake fell off the rack, and began to slither, rapidly, towards him. He tried to strike it with the iron pan, but he missed every time.

The reptile was just a few feet away from Bilbo; he knew it would attack him and sink in its venomous fangs, any moment. Bilbo saw the creature retract its body and then lunge forward. In that brief moment, he thought of the irony of it all – here he was, in a house with one of the deadliest beasts – a dragon, but he was to die, bitten by a measly snake. He did not stand a chance and the thought made him dizzy.

Suddenly, he felt something coiling around his body and lifting him off of the ground. The next thing he saw, from the view above, was a powerful flare, which cooked the reptile among many other things.

Smaug had sensed the presence of the serpent. He lifted Bilbo off the floor and protected the hobbit from its attack; he owed the little being as much.

Bilbo, still wedged in the loop of Smaug’s tail, watched as the dragon patted down the flames on the kitchen table with its paws, mimicking the hobbit’s attempt at putting out the fire, which it had witnessed a few days back.

“Do not! Please do not take those, Smaug!” Bilbo pleaded, as he watched the dragon stare into the open floor storage, eyeing the cookware that Bilbo had safely stashed.

“Can you please put me down?!” another request from Bilbo.

But the beast heeded neither. It dug out all the crockery and pots, and, slipping it within its hold, carried it all, along with Bilbo, into its chamber.

Once there, Smaug scattered the new addition onto the pile of utensils. He, then, nuzzling over the hoard, swung his tail, gently, bringing Bilbo nearer to the crook of his neck. He curled up around the hobbit and covered him with his wings, letting out a sigh that must have translated as ‘Good night; lights out!’

“Smaug! I am not comfortable sleeping here. Smaug!” Bilbo’s muffled words were heard from underneath the large wing. But the Smaug was not to care.

“Stupid dragon!” Bilbo mumbled, faintly, in exasperation.

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Now, apart from the constant thievery of his kitchen, Smaug had developed a new habit – sleeping with Bilbo. Every time it wanted to nap, day or night, it came looking for the hobbit. No matter how many times Bilbo protested, it would not mind his pleas. The dragon would doze off each time, with Bilbo tucked under its wings; and Bilbo too, did fall asleep, in that manner, more times than he could count.

“I miss my bed, dragon!” Bilbo bawled; he was no longer as fearful of the beast as he had been.

“I am sleeping in my bed, tonight. Do you hear me?” Bilbo added, tired of the routine.

The hobbit crawled out from under the stockpile of supplies, and, throwing an angry glare at the baffled dragon, he walked out of the room.

Bilbo put on the comfortable night gown and slipped into his bed. He fluffed the pillows and rubbed his cheek against its softness, basking in the blissful coziness.

In the middle of the night, Bilbo felt something constrict him; he felt a weight over his body that drew him out of slumber.

“Great! Just…great!” he said to no one, staring at the sleeping dragon in his bed.

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Bilbo rubbed his eyes open to a large copper vessel kept on his pillow; the dragon was still in his bed with a ton of its treasure. He tried to move away from below Smaug’s paw; but just as he did so, he heard a loud cracking noise. The bedding dropped on the floor with an even louder thud.

Smaug shuddered awake, fluttering his wings and grabbing Bilbo, protecting the hobbit from the unknown attack.

“Put me down, Smaug!” Bilbo yelled.

“Look what you did! You broke my bed!” he added, as his feet touched the floor.

But Smaug, as uncaring as before, tilted his head and studied the hobbit, before crawling out of the room and disappearing in through the corridor.

“Of course! How is this any of your concern, right?!” Bilbo called after him, nodding his head in vexation. He needed to buy a new bed.

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“Make it a large one, Mr. Loamsdown. Once you are done, fling your cow on it, just to confirm that it is strong enough.” Bilbo placed an order, for a new bed, with Shire’s furniture maker, taking out his irritation on the poor old hobbit.

“Strong enough for what, Mr. Baggins?” asked the flummoxed hobbit.

“Bilbo!” someone called, just as Bilbo was going to respond to Mr. Loamsdown. Bilbo turned to the voice.

“Uncle Halfred!” Bilbo smiled, heartily.

“You have not changed since I saw you last, my child!” Halfred shook Bilbo, affectionately.

“Neither have you, uncle!” Bilbo said.

“Am I glad that you are well?” Halfred said, pulling Bilbo into a hug.

“I am so proud of you, my lad!” he added, denoting his nephew’s valour at the battle.

“Let me get that for you. We best hurry; Hilda is waiting outside your quarters.” Halfred spoke of his wife - Bilbo’s aunt, taking some purchases from Bilbo’s hands.

“That is fine, Uncle Halfred.”Bilbo refused the gesture, noting that the hobbit was carrying some bags of his own.

As they began to walk back, Bilbo stopped dead on his tracks. A pang of worry overwhelmed him, when he remembered that he was not alone at home these days. How was he going to escape this? He hoped that Smaug was in the locked room and not meandering about the hobbit-hole. His insides churned with panic, and his mind was so troubled that he did not listen to a word his uncle voiced, throughout their trek back home.

They were at a short distance away from home, when they heard a shrilling cry. Bilbo saw Hilda scuttling out of the hobbit-hole, screaming out loud, and hurrying toward them.

“Aunt Hilda! I can… I can explain!” Bilbo said, to the baffled lady hobbit, as she stood panting and voiceless, pointing toward his house.

“He’s… he’s…” was all that Hilda managed to say.

Bilbo, dropping the bags he had in his hands, rushed indoors. He believed the dragon to have been as bewildered by the intrusion; he feared it might try to escape as a result.

“Smaug!” Bilbo whispered, ensuring the name does not reach the ears of the two hobbits waiting out the front door.

“Smaug!” Bilbo tried again.

There was a noise from the bedroom, which had Bilbo walking toward it. Never would have Bilbo thought that he was to ever see the vision he was presented with, as he reached the entrance to the room.

In the resting chamber, there stood a stranger who was almost human-like in his form but much shorter. The person stood naked, with his head cocked, studying himself in the large mirror that was a gift from Bilbo’s grandmother.

Bilbo could not see the face; all that was in his view was the thick wavy hair, which adorned the stranger’s head, and his exposed back. A line of glossy, bluish-black scales of circular shape ran along his spine, from the nape of his neck to the hollow of his back. The dark formation, which was prominent against his pale skin, was of a pattern and texture that looked very familiar.

Bilbo’s heart skipped a beat, as he recognized who it was; who else could it be?

“S-Smaug!” Bilbo called.

The person turned around, his naked body now in full view, and the scar at the center of his chest was visible with clarity. Bilbo stared at the handsome face and gaped at the beauty of the dragon in its new manifestation. His eyes were aquamarine blue with a hint of greenish gold, and they studied Bilbo with thoroughness.

“Did… umm..” Bilbo cleared his throat. His mind was bogged and he was disoriented, even then he managed to speak.

“Did she see you in the other form?” Bilbo asked, hoping that he would get a response. And he did - Smaug nodded a ‘No’.

“Good… good!” the last words were uttered, before Bilbo dropped on the floor like freshly cut timber, just as he did a long while back when Bofur had spoken of the dragon for the first time – the quirk of fate!

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Bilbo was slapped backed to consciousness by Aunt Hilda. Recollecting all that had transpired, he, briskly, sat upright, next to his aunt and uncle who were crouched beside him.

“He is in the pantry. Who is he?” Aunt Hilda whispered.

“He’s… erm… he’s a friend.” Bilbo replied.

“That explains it! When I stood outside, I noticed the knob turning. I thought it was you. I entered as he had set the door ajar. I found him standing at center of the dining room, utterly exposed. I was terrified!” Hilda explained the reason for her hysteria.

“At first, I thought he was a burglar but then I wondered why a burglar would take off his clothes. Why is he, though… you know, naked?” she added.

“I had asked him to get comfortable.” Bilbo had become somewhat of an expert with excuses.

“Well, he seems to have gotten a bit too comfortable.” Halfred said.

“What is he? I mean, he is not a hobbit, clearly!” he added.

“He’s of mixed race – hobbit and man!” Bilbo was shocked that his mind was working well enough to construct these profound lies.

“How did that ever ensue?” Halfred asked, trying to picture a hobbit-man couple.

“Well, they did make a gorgeous lad.” Hilda spoke of Smaug; if only she had seen his true form back in the citadels of Erebor.

Shortly, Hilda, Halfred and Bilbo looked up at the naked dragon who had, now, entered the hallway, where the three had been having the conversation.

Bilbo, immediately, stood up and yanked off the cloth that was laid over a small table. He used the cloth to cover Smaug’s crotch. The dragon’s eyes followed his every move.

“Hello! I’m Halfred.” Halfred aimed for a hand shake. Smaug, simply, stood there glancing back and forth between the old hobbit and his extended hand.

“This is Hilda.” Halfred withdrew his hand, when he received no responding gesture.

“Hello dear!” Hilda addressed, awkwardly.

“What is your name?” she added.

“Smau..” the dragon began to speak.

“SMOKE! It smells like smoke. Yes you are right! Let me open the windows.” Bilbo interrupted, just in time.

“Does it?” Hilda was confused.

“His name is… Eganodh Aodhfin!” Bilbo came up with the most bizarre name; thanks to some book, he had read, on strange languages of foreign lands.

“You may call him Aodhfin!” he added.

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“Please sit beside me. And try not to give yourself away, unless you want to get killed.” Bilbo murmured to Smaug, pushing him down onto the chair next to his.

Smaug glared at him in response.

“Yes. Sorry. I know you will be doing the killing.” Bilbo gulped.

Bilbo had managed to get Smaug into a large night gown, it was the only thing that fit the dragon, though not perfectly – the fabric was stretched to its extend and looked as though it would tear off, any moment. Smaug looked ridiculous, but, at the very least, the garment covered the dragon’s nakedness.

They sat at the dining table, ready to have a good meal, which Bilbo and Hilda had prepared.

When Hilda placed some lettuce on the dragon’s plate, Smaug picked it up, and, studying it, dumped it onto her plate. Hilda and Halfred looked at each other and then at Bilbo, staggered by the act.

“He does not like it, Aunt Hilda. He’ll just have the meat.” Bilbo instructed.

“Right! Of course!” Hilda said, and, picking the dish of roasted mutton, began to set down some pieces on Smaug’s plate.

The dragon, however, took over the entire platter of meat, and attacked it voraciously, with his cutlery forgotten.

“He likes to eat with his hands.” Bilbo spoke to the other two hobbits, who were stunned by Smaug’s table manners, or, well, the lack of it.

“Now, Aodhfin! Save some for us!” Bilbo tried to take back the tray of meat, but was unsuccessful when Smaug shot him a threatening glance.

“I guess, we’ll just have the fish!” Halfred said, noting that they were, clearly, not going to get anything back from Smaug.

“Yes, sounds good.” Bilbo said, and the three hobbits began to share the grilled fish.

For the longest moment, they ate in a discomfited silence. Bilbo tried very hard not to gawk blatantly at the beautiful creature seated beside him. Who would ever believe that in Smaug the Fearsome dwelled a being so…

“Very handsome!” Hilda said, finishing Bilbo’s thoughts, and touched Smaug’s beautiful black locks. The dragon jerked away at the contact.

“Now, do not make me jealous, Hilda.” Halfred quipped.

“Oh! Halfred! Yours will always be the most handsome face I have ever laid eyes on. Is he not handsome, Aodhfin?” Hilda asked Smaug, beaming from ear to ear.

The dragon looked into her searching eyes and then at Halfred.

“I have seen better orcs.” Smaug responded, and the world stood still, well except for the dragon himself who went back to attacking the meat. The three hobbits sat flabbergasted by the response.

Bilbo wanted to dig himself a grave, right by the table, and lie in it, in that very moment. Hilda was silenced, taken aback by the rudeness. And Halfred, that poor hobbit, embarrassed by it all, sat with uneasiness and drank from the chalice of wine.

“Should we get the dessert, Aunt Hilda?” Bilbo tried to distract them.

“Yes, we should!” Hilda said, wiping her mouth with the napkin, and rose up to help Bilbo carry the dishes.

“I think I’ll have a smoke. Fire it up for me, lad!” Halfred asked Bilbo, drawing out a pipe.

Just as the words escaped Halfred’s lips, Smaug opened his mouth into a perfect circle, readying himself to breathe fire. Bilbo, with his hands full, lunged himself at the dragon and closed that mouth with his own – a surprise kiss, which surprised the hell out of everyone including himself.

Smaug was overpowered by the affection – though it was not really a kiss, he believed that it was. He stuck his tongue out and began licking Bilbo’s lips, his cheeks and every portion of the hobbit’s face; because, in fondness, that is what animals do - lick the skin off of you.

Bilbo, idly, sat there, with his face being relentlessly smeared in spit, wondering how he was to explain this to his uncle and aunt, who stood mortified by the spectacle.

“Aunt Hilda! Uncle Halfred!” Bilbo cleared his throat, like he was going to make an announcement, and pulled away from Smaug.

“Aodhfin and I, we are lovers.” Bilbo gave the only possible explanation, taking the dragon’s hand in his.

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“That, probably, is the reason why he refused to marry Rosemary.” Bilbo heard Aunt Hilda’s stifled words from the guest room.

“And he had always insisted on living alone.” he heard Halfred add.

The two went onto discussing the new revelation on the grounds of Bilbo’s love-life. But Bilbo was too exhausted, mentally and physically, to carry on with the accidental eavesdropping.

Since his bed was broken, he dragged the mattress onto the floor and prepared it to sleep on. All of it was taking a toll on the poor hobbit. How long was he going to put up with the act, the lies and the pretension? How long was he to keep the dragon hidden in his home? Eventually, everyone would find out about him, just as his aunt and uncle had – though not the entire truth. And, what if one day they came to kill Smaug?

“No! No! I will not let that happen.” Bilbo said to no one, with the heels of his palm planted on his brow, pressing the headache away.

He pondered endlessly, playing out the possible scenarios in his mind, only to conclude on the decision of taking it all one day at a time. With that, in sheer lethargy, his mind floated off to sleep.

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Faintly awake, Bilbo felt a hand loop around him and creep over his torso. He stayed motionless, knowing very well who it was. He felt Smaug’s unclad body press against his own, and the dragon’s scorching breath caressing the back of his neck.

Smaug’s strong arm cradled Bilbo against his chest. A wing ripped through the scales over his spine, and coiled around the hobbit, hiding him within its haven.

Swiping his tongue over Bilbo’s ear lobe, repetitively, the dragon nodded off. Bilbo, nestled in Smaug’s hold, with his eyes wide open, was unable to go back to sleep.

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“Please draw in your wings.” Bilbo requested, as he draped the bed spread around Smaug’s body.

The creature had torn off the night gown before getting into bed with Bilbo, the previous night. Bilbo decided to invite the local tailor to have something suitable stitched for the dragon.

Bilbo then went on to burbling further in frustration. But Smaug was occupied with studying the hobbit’s face, almost fascinated by it. He touched Bilbo’s moving lips with his finger tip, quieting the hobbit. He pressed it in, enjoying the feebleness of the flesh beneath his finger. Leaning in, Smaug stole a taste of it; it was an abrupt intoxication – he wanted more. With no warning, he claimed Bilbo’s lips in a brutal kiss, drawing them into the heat of his mouth – consuming, abusing.

Bilbo, startled by the ambush, tried to protest the onslaught. But Smaug’s converged strength was not something he could fight. He was shoved and crushed against the wall, and the air sucked out through his tortured mouth.

“Ahem…” Hilda cleared her throat, causing a momentary distraction. Bilbo could not have been more grateful.

“Breakfast is ready, sweetheart.” she said, grinning impishly.

“We’ll be there, Aunt Hilda.” Bilbo informed, embarrassed beyond measure.

When Hilda had left the scene, Smaug held Bilbo by the arm and pushed him back onto the wall. Bilbo thought it was to continue the deed, but, to his surprise, Smaug began to gently rub his thumb over the hobbit’s lower lip. It is then that Bilbo felt the sting; his lip had been cut by the dragon’s sharp tooth.

Smaug looked distraught to have hurt him. The dragon never ceased to astonish Bilbo; he never thought Smaug was capable of feeling guilt or being affectionate.

“It is fine, Smaug. I am alright.” Bilbo soothed, speaking against the stroking finger.

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“All that we care about is your happiness, lad!” Hilda said, as they stood by the front door bidding farewell.

“Yes! Finally, you are not alone in this hobbit-hole. It is a matter of joy!” Halfred patted Bilbo on the shoulder.

“Though, I must point out… there is something off about him. Very… unrefined.” Halfred added, leaning in and whispering.

“Halfred!” Hilda poked her elbow onto his rib.

“They are in love! If I recall correctly, you were the most unbearable hobbit that there was. Love has a way of changing people.” Hilda stated.

“Anyhow, we must get going!” she added.

“You could have stayed a few days.” Bilbo said, purely out of courtesy. He was glad that they were leaving, as he had the lord of unpredictability lodging in his humble abode.

“It is time for harvest, my child. We wanted to come visit you, to make sure that you were doing well, after the great battle. I promise you that our next visit would not be that far along.” Hilda said.

“You better take good care of yourself, lad. Do convey our farewell to your companion, as he wakes.” Halfred said.

“I will uncle. Have a safe trip.” Bilbo hugged the two hobbits.

He stood a while watching them journey away.

“Mr. Baggins!” a hobbit walked towards Bilbo from the other end.

“Mr. Mittengloak! Thank you for coming!” Bilbo welcomed the local tailor, offering to carry the hobbit’s bag of sample fabrics and tools.

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Days had passed, unknowingly, in unraveling the mystery that was Smaug. Every day Bilbo would find something novel about the creature - he learnt that Smaug could transform himself fully or a part of his feature in adaptability, he saw how the dragon’s his eyes could glow a brilliant blue or a fiery gold, and he marveled at the emergence and disappearance of his scales, claws and fangs. But that was not all; apart from the physical changes, what fascinated Bilbo the most was the beast’s frame of mind. Fondness, grief, remorse, ignominy – these were not emotions that he had ever expected to see in Smaug. Bilbo had thought that he could never confine the beast within his little home, but Smaug had adapted surprisingly well, and had never once tried to escape.

Bilbo, for the first time, had forgotten that he was alone. He had, towards the end of the journey with the dwarves, dreaded coming back to Shire – back to his empty home. But Smaug had, in a manner, saved him from that abysmal void. He was so lost in tending to the dragon that it seemed like his life had a new purpose.

Smaug, on the other hand, had left bare his emotions for Bilbo alone. He was still the unholy menace with everything else that moved. Only Bilbo deserved his affability and everyone else remained a foe.

One of the days, Mr. Mittengloak had brought in the stitched clothes. Smaug had refused to have his measurements taken by the hobbit when he had initially visited. Eventually, Bilbo had to do the task for Mr. Mittengloak, as Smaug would only let Bilbo touch him. So, when Mr. Mittengloak had revisited with the stitched clothes, he made the mistake of trying to get Smaug into one of them, while Bilbo had gone into the kitchen to fetch the hobbit a glass of wine. When Bilbo had walked back in, it was too late.

Smaug had slapped the poor hobbit off, with his drawn out tail. Mr. Mittengloak flew across the room and thrashed against the window like splattered slime, and then slid down the wall onto the floor. Thankfully, the hobbit, though unconscious, was not hurt. Bilbo had made him rest on the armchair, and when he had woken up, Bilbo convinced Mr. Mittengloak that he had fallen asleep. When he had mentioned something about Smaug, Bilbo dismissed it and laughed it off as a nightmare. He had thanked the hobbit and paid him for his service, getting rid of him before he remembered more by looking at Smaug.

Smaug had looked very chivalrous in the new attire, when Bilbo had dressed him up. But elegance was not meant for Smaug. No matter how many times Bilbo had tried, Smaug would end up walking around unclothed. It was a habit he could not shake, among a few others – like kissing Bilbo.

Bilbo had been frightened by the dragon’s growing closeness. The depth of the kisses and the animalistic gazes were distressing. But if Bilbo were to be honest, it felt good in a way, having those lips on him. And Smaug’s human-like form was a tempting sight. He had never seen locks as dark in hue and fashioned like flowing waves.

Sometimes, when they slept together, Bilbo would run his fingers through the dark tresses, and Smaug would cave into the touches - easily soothed and highly responsive. Their bond, Bilbo noted, was turning into something unfathomable and unhealthy.

One night, Bilbo had woken up to an empty bed. He felt the bile rise to his throat as he feared the dragon was gone. He had, swiftly, jumped out of the bed only to find the dragon standing by the window and staring out at the night sky.

“Do you still fear me, hobbit?” he had asked, without facing Bilbo. The hobbit was astounded by the question, as Smaug was of so few words.

“I do not.” Bilbo had responded.

“You lie. You do fear the evil in me. You fear that it might surface one day. Do you not?” Smaug prodded.

“I do. But I also dwell on a hope – a hope that I am wrong on that regard. And I have seen enough a deal, which has made it evident that I do not hope for the impossible.” Bilbo responded honestly.

“Do you cling onto a hope at the sight of my changed stature, hobbit? I am not of fair skin and fine figure. I am a beast - wicked of heart, revolting of form and hollow of soul. You are but a fool to think otherwise.” Smaug knew of his flaws; and some flaws are craved so deep that one could never be rid of them. He feared that he might, eventually, hurt the poor hobbit. So he warned the little being, to be watchful of him, to run away when he could, to abandon him if he wanted or to kill him if he wished.

“I am but willing to face the consequences of my actions. Hence, until that moment, when I shall be made to pay the price of my deed, I choose to remain on this path of foolishness. I have brought you into my home and if you must leave one day, it shall be with my blood in your hands. And it might not be the act of your unrestraint wickedness; chances are that it would be the result of you fighting my defiance in allowing you to leave.” Bilbo stated, revealing his intent.

Smaug was astounded by the munificence. He did not deserve this, he thought. No one has treated him so. To all – the greatest of warriors in all races alike - he was always Smaug the ghastly tyrant; none ever trounced his power. The Black Arrow had only claimed his bodily strength; it could never obliterate his obdurate malice.

But here he stood, proven wrong, and defeated, utterly, by the compassion of a brave little hobbit.

“I am tired, Smaug. I must go back to bed.” Bilbo stated, and returned to rest, leaving the dragon to ponder.

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“I will be back in a few days.” Bilbo said, holding the knob of the front door.

“Please remain safe.” he added, hesitatingly. He did not want to leave Smaug alone at Shire. But Bilbo had to journey to far away realms, to visit his friends and to invite their presence at the festivities that was about to commence in Shire.

Smaug nodded in response.

“Alright, then!” Bilbo said, opening the door and stepping out.

“I’ll see you very soon.” he smiled at Smaug, and the door closed behind him.

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On his return, Bilbo stopped at the market place to deliver the new barrels that he had promised Mr. Huggleton. It was raining heavily, and he thought it was best to have them dropped off before he headed home.

Tying the reigns to a close by pole, Bilbo began to unload the barrels from the cart, with some help from the Mr. Huggleton.

“Thanks a lot, Bilbo.” Mr. Huggleton patted his shoulder.

“Not a problem, Mr. Huggleton. I must hurry back home.” Bilbo said, holding a hand up to cover his head from the falling rain.

“They have killed the beast! That strange beast in the woods which had attacked the cattle; they have killed it!” a young hobbit ran through the market crowd, shouting.

Bilbo’s heart stopped at the words.

 _Smaug_ …

His horse and cart forgotten, the coins for his service forgotten, Bilbo ran toward his house. _They have killed Smaug_. He scampered through the muddy paths, drenching in rain and his chest heaving for air.

Bilbo’s mind was bewildered and his heart ached like never before. The tears blurred his vision, but he stopped for nothing; he had to see his dragon. He wished beyond all that he was safe, but by each passing second, hope began to fade a little. It can’t be; he had not saved and cared for the creature  just to have him taken away by the sickening fate.

After what seemed like an eternity, he reached the hobbit-hole. With much trouble, his quavering fingers unlocked the door. Rubbing off the tears and the raindrops from his face, Bilbo threw open the front door.

“Smaug!” he yelled, slamming the door, once inside, and rushing towards the dragon’s chamber.

An empty room and silence was all that remained. The excruciating woe had driven the hobbit insane. He charged through the vicinity of his home, weeping at the heart-wrenching pain, and calling out the dragon’s name. _He is gone. They have killed him_.

“Hobbit…” a heavy voice rung from the passageway, when Bilbo had almost given up.

Bilbo thought that he was imagining it, but hurried toward it, nonetheless. There in the dimness of the hallway, stood the dragon, baffled a little and naked as ever.

A wave of serenity thrashed through Bilbo so fiercely that he felt giddy. But he stood, unmoving, thanking the heavens for the safety of the beast that he had once wanted to see dead – how humorous was destiny?

“I…I thought you were…” his voice cracked as more tears streamed down his heated cheeks.

He watched the dragon move, cautiously, towards him. In the flashing luminance of lightning, he saw those sharp eyes study his face with sheer curiosity. Smaug reached out to Bilbo and touched his dampened face.

“Why do you weep, hobbit?” Smaug asked, with concern latent in the deep voice.

That was all it took for Bilbo to break down. He threw himself at Smaug, startling the beast, and hauled him into an unyielding embrace. He, then, began to kiss every inch of that remarkable face, finally, locking lips and drawing Smaug into an ardent kiss.

With an innate need, Smaug reciprocated; he kissed back with an insatiable force, his tongue snaking into the hobbit’s mouth and claiming a taste. The dragon’s strong arms crushed the hobbit within his grip and he lifted the little being off the ground.

With his back dragging against the walls, the dragon moved, until he tripped in through the opened door of the bedroom. He landed on the floor with the hobbit in his hands, but the fall had not hindered the kiss.

Bilbo dug his fingers into the dark waves of hair, and drowned in the vicious kiss; it hurt with a soothing ache.

Rolling over, Smaug lifted himself up a little, supporting his weight on palms planted on the ground, at either side of Bilbo’s head. He, then, looked down at the hobbit, with his eyes changing into a burning yellow.

Bilbo could not comprehend Smaug’s disposition, until he felt the hardness of his phallus against his thigh - the beast was aroused by the intimacy and his body was adapting to mate.

Fear surged within Bilbo, as he watched the claws emerge, but he would not escape; he would not part from Smaug again.

The dragon’s claws scraped against Bilbo’s skin, as he fanatically shredded away the hobbit’s sodden clothes, until Bilbo was utterly bare beneath his body - vulnerable and submitting.

Bilbo knew that a severe onslaught awaits him, when he felt the head of the hefty cock nudge against his opening. He would not fight it; instead, he reached up and coiled his fingers around the foot of the bed for some kind of leverage.

Overpowered by his carnal need, Smaug thrust into the hobbit’s quivering body – no mercy, no gentleness. Bilbo contorted his face in unbearable pain, with his fingers taut around the wooden pole in a deathly grip, and his eyes squeezed shut as he let out a ragged breath. He wanted to feel it all; he wanted the touch and the aching love. Smaug was here, and he wanted his wounded heart to know that. It was only a few distressful minutes, but the thought of losing Smaug was so agonizing that it had beaten him utterly.

Bilbo looked up at Smaug and studied that face with vacant eyes. He watched as the scales appeared, momentarily, on his skin, just to disappear again. He freed one hand to touch the waveringly transforming skin. In admiration, he had forgotten the torture his body was being subjected to.

His exploring fingers, then, crept down over the scar on Smaug’s chest. The dragon froze at the contact; his blazing eyes stared into Bilbo’s.

“Stay…” Bilbo whispered a plea.

One must, sometimes, marvel at the depth beneath a single word. A life of solitude was no life at all – who else would understand what Bilbo had meant, if not a beast that was isolated by the world? As if in a profound realization, as though a tenderness replacing the frenzy, Smaug’s eyes changed back.

Closing in, he devoured the hobbit’s lips in a loving kiss – he had heard his little being.

The copious amount of seeds dripping out of Smaug’s member daubed the warm chute. His length glided in, forcefully, squeezed by a callous grip, and the strength rose with each thrust. Smaug ground his body against Bilbo’s, with the hobbit’s trapped erection being kneaded by the strong muscles of his abdomen.

Bilbo’s mind was too lost to acknowledge the absurdity of the act. It was wrong, he knew that at some sane part of his mind, but it was not something he wanted to rectify. He wanted to sink deeper into it, if that was possible, as he was already far gone.

At another glance, Bilbo saw the dragon’s eyes turn again, but this time, to a glowing blue. His hand that rested on Smaug’s back, felt the line of scales rip open, as the wings tore out and spread; they cocooned around Bilbo, holding him in place, in their sweltering warmth – protecting; owning.

Smaug pounded in harder with a rapacious want, and Bilbo could not hold on any longer. The forceful jabbing against his sweet spot and the crushing of his cock between their bodies had him reaching the edge. He threw his head back in a violent cry, digging his fingers into the dragon part-skin-part-scaly back. His chute clenched, crushing in around the dragon’s cock, throwing him too over the brink. Smaug shot into the warmth, with his body convulsing powerfully, and his seeds filling the entirety of the channel until the heated fluid gushed out.

The dragon’s hands and wings drew in, coiling tighter around the hobbit, as they lay bonded and bound.

Thus, against the norms of that which was natural, their bodies and minds had twined; it was a sin of the sweetest kind - if only it had felt wrong.

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Would anyone believe the story of Bilbo, the hobbit from Shire, who had rescued the tyranny that was Smaug – the dragon who was on a splurge of murdering all including him? Would they ever comprehend, if they were to be enlightened of the bond between the two? The answer was ‘No.’ Hence, the tale shall forever remain latent, only to be murmured by the walls of Bilbo’s home. The dragon who sat among a crowd of dwarves, hobbits, elves and men, was a secret that was Bilbo’s alone.

None of the dwarves, neither Gandalf nor the wise elves could recognize Smaug in his splendid form. Bilbo was also glad that Thorin and Thranduil had remained absent; as he feared their company would have evoked something erratic in Smaug. The dragon, now, sat with arms crossed against his chest, frowning and contemplating who he must kill first. It was endearing to watch him control his wrath.

Bilbo had been keeping an eye on him throughout the event, ensuring that he was alright. But the hobbit was briefly distracted, as he welcomed some members of his family.

“Master Baggins!” he heard Ori call out in distress. A worried Bilbo, instantaneously, looked around for Smaug instead of Ori. The dragon was no longer in his seat. Bilbo turned pale with dread.

When he had hurried towards Ori, he found Smaug with his hands firmly wound around the dwarf’s torso and his face resting on Ori's chest. Smaug was, repeatedly, rubbing his cheek against a gold medallion that Ori had on. _Dwarven gold_.

“Your friend…” Ori carped, seeking help.

“Aodhfin!” Bilbo called, puling Smaug away from Ori.

“Sorry about that, Ori.” Bilbo apologized.

“No… that is fine!” Ori said, ever so gentle and soft-spoken.

“Do you like it?” Ori asked, directing the question at Smaug.

“I think you should have it.” Ori said, taking the trinket off and placing it in Smaug’s hands.

There were lessons only time can teach someone. And Bilbo knew that, in this moment, at the generosity of a little dwarf, time had made one such revelation to Smaug - goodness of heart can be, sometimes, found even in the worst of foes.

 “It is time for the fireworks!” Gandalf announced, standing at the center of the open field.

As Bilbo sat next to Smaug, he took the hobbit’s hand in his, and their finger entwined in a light grasp. They stared up at the display of coloured lights that exploded with a faint thundering noise. Bilbo noted the longing in Smaug’s eyes as the dragon admired the vast span of the night sky.

“Up north by the Kairing Mountains, where the sun sets and the clouds touch the earth, there is a secluded piece of land. Soon, you and I shall journey there. Your wings must learn to fly again.” Bilbo said, with gleeful eyes.

A smile broke through Smaug’s shielded face, and, leaning in, he kissed the lips that left a promise for tomorrow.

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How trivial some considered love? But it shall, forever, remain the only force that could mellow down the fiercest, melt down the toughest and reform the vilest.

A place where love is found, thus, becomes home to a soul lost – like a hobbit-hole to a dragon.

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**By |è†hål ð³§ir³s**

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